We never know what life holds for us.
My dream was to dance; and I did. Time passed, life changed and though I can't be "out
there" on the stage, it doesn't mean I can't
dance. My shoes may be tattered,
the audience gone but the dance continues.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

If you haven't already read my blog about our game night, you should know that part of the craziness of that night had to due with my state of exhaustion. I was so busy with the little stuff on Friday that it took all day to get it done.

Recap:At 2:45 p.m. I got in the car to go pick Karina up from school. She got in the car and we picked up our usual conversation once she's belted in and ready to go. If you're a parent, you know the one...How was school today? Did you eat at lunch? Any homework? Anything exciting happen? After which she innocently remarks "So I guess you just stayed home and didn't do anything today, ha?".

Poor child had no idea what she was in for but I guess I was just at that place where out of exhaustion, I could no longer control myself. I looked her straight in the eyes and said, in my most 'what do you think I do all day long, you're lucky I'm not gonna kill you' voice: "DIDN'T DO ANYTHING! I came to pick you up didn't I? Of course, that was after I got up this morning and drove you to school, went back home and made breakfast for your dad and Matthew, washed clothes, filled out the rebate papers for your dad's phone and Sonar program, cleaned the bathroom, cleaned the kitchen, mopped the floors, picked up some supplies from Office Max, ran into Target, and packaged the broken cell phone that you will now accompany me in mailing at the Post Office and then you WILL go with me to the grocery store to buy what WE will make for dinner before we even think about playing games this evening.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

We started late. After 8 o'clock p.m. If you ask me, that's late to start a game night but all things considered, I'm surprised we even played.

It looked as if the evening would be disastrous because my Sister, Michele, couldn't make it. Her son, Donte, came home from school with little blisters on his chest and back; we're guessing chicken pox. My Aunt had taken a senior day trip to Santa Barbara and was too pooped to pop and brother Rusty, as it turns out, doesn't like playing games (What?). We were really counting on Gloria and Andrew to show up but Andrew had a church function to attend, so we sat and waited.

Why we waited, I still don't know, but we did. 7:49 p.m. - phone rings...everyone freezes in anticipation..."Gloria?", "hey, you guys still up", "Yeah, we're here waiting", "okay, be right there"....hung up. "They're on the way.", BIG exhale and back to where we were...waiting.

10 minutes later, the door bell rings. Back to freeze. Karina gets up and opens the door "It's them!"..."YES!!" Let the games begin. We're excited now. There's a new air in the room and the excitement is building because when it comes to games, my family is competitive.

Of course, before we can start we have to get through the directions. For any normal family, this shouldn't be a problem but for us it's like a circus. One person tries to read out loud but no one is listening so the next brave soul grabs the directions and makes a second attempt, if you couldn't listen the first time, why would you listen the second? What are we dealing with here? A room full of school children? Apparently because we do what any group of school children would do and toss the directions to one side and jump in feet first.The game begins and everything appears to be going smoothly except at some point I realize that if the team who's turn it is answers the question correctly, there's no reward. No extra move, no 2nd turn, no nuthin'. So why play? If I'm not gonna get rewarded, why am I playing?

The reason the question came to mind is that Carlos and I are a team and we're in...you may have guessed...last place and it isnt' that we haven't answered any of the questions correctly, we've just been rolling low numbers so we're not traveling much. So I'm trying to figure out how we're supposed to get ahead, if not by answering correctly.

By this point, we're half way through the game. So I ask "Isn't something supposed to happen if you answer a question correctly?" Duh...there's a mad scramble to find the directions. This time through we're all ears because who doesn't want to win?

We get it all figured out and get back to the game.....by some stroke of luck Carlos and I win. We were in last place so it wasn't expected, but from Carlos' parade you'd think we just won the Indy 500, the Kentucky Derby and the Gold Cup all at once. He's up high fiving everyone, he's break dancing, moon walking, spreading his feathers and then making his acceptance speech. Seriously, this went on for a good 6, 7 minutes.

To say it was funny, would be putting it mildly. I don't think I've had that good a laugh in a very long time. My stomach muscles hurt, I had tears running down my cheeks, I had to sit so I wouldn't fall and we all looked like....well, kinda ugly now that I picture it. You know that kinda laugh that makes a beautiful person ugly?

Well, let's see what next month holds. God willing we'll do it again except next time, I'm emailing out a copy of the directions in advance.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Ever have a dinosaur in your driveway? Well, from one who has, let me tell you, it's ugly.

Ever have a hair brain idea? Unfortunately for Juan Carlos and I, we have. Aaaha.

Our story starts something like this:Friend says "got a old motor home I wanna sell"Juan Carlos says "that motor home is mine!"I says "are you sure?"Juan Carlos says "YES"Result: Dinosaur in the driveway

Seriously, for those of you who have never had one, it's exciting, the thought of driving cross country, sleeping on a bed instead of a airbed in the beautiful campgrounds of Sequoia, saving money on restaurants by cooking your meals, playing cards at the table while dad drives. All exciting thoughts. And thoughts are all they ever were.

2 years later, our motor home vacation dreams are still pending while I have to run outside to the curb to see the latest excitement of an ambulance down the street. I cannot for the life of me figure out how to snoop on the neighbors without either climbing on top of the motor home or worse yet, crawling under it. And every week the day before the street cleaner comes we battle for the driveway of the vacant house down the street or get up early Tuesday morning to move our cars. So far, I haven't seen a return on my investment.

So Sunday God clearly sent a drunken angel. No, I'm not kidding. In the middle of a family bar-b-que comes a voice from heaven: Juan Carlos....imagine it....Juan Carlos....it's angelic....it's all consuming....OHHHH, it's the neighbor down the street with the all too recognizable beer can in hand. OK, so it's not angelic, but clearly God was working.

Juan Carlos goes out to the front to see who's coming to dinner and returns with a smile on his lips and a fold in his brow. "Marie", he says, "they're offering me $2,000.00 for the motor home". To which I reply faster than I have ever spoken in my entire life "TAKE IT!". I think I may have frightened him because he jumped back several feet. Honestly, at this point, I don't know who "they" are and I don't really care. I'm drooling at the thought of seeing my driveway again.

Well, it was an ordeal, to say the least. Good part is, our drunken, heavenly friend, wrote a check, hooked up his tow truck and after leaving the motor home in park and partially pulling off the front bumper, merrily drove away to where ever it is angels with motor homes go.

For Juan Carlos it was a bitter sweet ending to our motor home dreams. For me, it was an "oh well" moment. And we will have to come up with a new way to cut the dry leaves off the Palm tree. But just so you know, even angels with beer cans can be a blessing.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

I find it interesting, the number of people out there who are into control. You know what I mean, the person who feels they need to tell you what to buy, what to eat, who to hang out with, what color to use on your hair, what to read or even, how to wash your face.

Why is that I wonder? Is it a need to be important? Is it because they don't value anyone as much as they do themselves? Might it be because they felt unimportant as a child and have never dealt with their issues.

I suppose it comes from any number of things but, personally, I don't want to be controlled anymore than I want to control. Ask me my opinion and I'll give it to you. I don't expect you'll always agree or choose to live your life according to my opinions or desires. Your life is yours to do what you will. And in turn, I'd appreciate the same from you. Sound fair? Good.

Now that I got that off my chest....I think I'll go to bed. It's late and I'm really tired. First, I'd better go out to the studio and tell my husband that it's time to turn off that recording equipment and get to bed. If he wants this marriage to work he'd better start listening to me. Hmmmm......No more of this going to bed late. From now on it's 9:30 lights out! And that music he listens to....

Monday, April 20, 2009

and it's late. I should be sleeping but...it's hot. Heat is strange. If it's hot during the day, it makes you sleepy. If it's hot at night, it keeps you awake. Makes no sense, yet that's exactly how it is.

Does cold do that? I don't believe it does. If it's cold during the day...it's cold...and if it's cold in the evening, well then, it's still just cold. It may make you want to cuddle up in a blanket and watch a movie or read a book but it doesn't interrupt your sleep unless your uncovered, in which case you cover up and go back to sleep.

So how and when did heat gain so much control. I'm not sure I understand it, but someone needs to step up and take the control back. We should start a petition, get 1,000 signatures and send it to Obama.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

It was busy at the spa today but I'm not complaining. Really, with the economy the way it is I'm the last person you're gonna hear complain about having work, or being busy.

I did a Pregnancy Massage, a Swedish Massage, a Hot Shell Massage and .... drum roll please, a 2 hour Hot Stone Massage...pa, rum, pum. I admit I'm a little tired, not much but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't.

In all, it was only four Massages, which is no big deal; a normal day. The one that tired me out was the last, a 2 hour Hot Stone. Not sure if you picked up on the TWO HOUR HOT STONE of that sentence. I've done two hour massages before and while they're not very common, we do get a request every now and then.

Here's the deal, if you've never had a hot stone massage, you must understand that the stone is hot because it is immersed in hot water. Well, let me just tell the deep dark secrets of a day spa...the stones are in a crock pot for goodness sake. It's not some fancy schmancy machine that heats the stones. We're talking Mama's roaster set at 125-135 or thereabouts. No tomato sauce please! Hold the carrots and potatoes, just gimme some plain old Basalt, black volcanic rock and a big plastic spoon to dish the stones out with.

This massage is all about comfort...to the receiver of course, because to tell you the truth, there is nothing and I repeat, nothing comfortable about holding on to a hot stone especially when your experiencing hot flashes. So, here I am in this dark room. A forty watt light in the corner, just enough to give the room the feeling of mystique. A little water fountain for the steady sound of water falling, light music to relax the client and me....a frizzy haired, crazed woman with high blood pressure, trying to survive menopause without taking anyone down, ending up in a mental institution or heaven forbid, a prison cell. Ahhhh, yes, peace. My foot!

When I walked into that room to perform the service, my hair was down (almost straight), make-up beautifully done, sane of mind. Peace abounds, life is beautiful. I have to admit, even I would have liked me. But how you gonna stick me in a little room with a bunch of rocks creating enough humidity to make me think I'm on the island of Guam and ask me to treat some nice, very nice, unsuspecting client for two long hours? How? I don't understand people. Apparently I have everyone at that spa thinking I'm a level headed, kind person.

Thank God my client fell into a restful sleep because by the time I ended her treatment I was ready to scream. I kindly woke her, slid out of the room before she could take a good look at me. I ran to the employee room, took out my fan, gulped down a glass of cold water and did everything I possibly could to cool myself down and "appear" normal again. Not an easy feat when your hands are lobster red from those stinking stones. And who thought of this treatment anyway?

Well, it's over. I did my best, hot flashes and all. My hands are like leather now but apparently I did something right because my client left me a really nice tip. Bless her heart and ability to sleep while some mad woman massages her with hot stones.

Friday, April 10, 2009

I almost hate when this happens....My husband wakes up and says "What a beautiful morning!". Now most people would find no problem with such a comment but if you know my husband, you know he has energy for four. A beautiful morning for him means energy gone wild.

The other reason I hate the phrase "What a Beautiful Morning" is that it reminds me of the musical Oklahoma.

I recall years ago when I first heard some of the music from Oklahoma, I just loved it. I was melodical, fun music. After a few years, that feeling wore off. It seemed like everyone had done Oklahoma to the point that the freshness was gone. I went to see friends who were sucked into doing the show because they knew so and so, who knew so and so (thank God, I always escaped).For me, it just turned into one of those loved it, now hate it musicals.

As if it weren't bad enough that I'd seen every version of it imaginable, I was given tickets to see it in Hollywood. Oh, Yippie! Really, why on earth would anyone be doing this show AGAIN. A girl I was working with was so excited to go that I just couldn't say no.

So off we go thinking, okay, well maybe since it's in Hollywood and the gal who played VickyStubing on "Love Boat" was in the cast, maybe, just maybe it'll be worth the while.

Wrong! Unbelievably wrong. If anything went right in that show, I'd be the only one who didn't notice. Let's just say that the actress didn't know her lines; script or songs. The actors were totally lost on stage, the lights went out several times and here's the point at which I could no longer take it....the back drop came crashing down on stage nearly landing on the actress in the middle of one of her ear piercing, poorly interpreted songs. I actually got up and walked out, somethingI rarely do regardless of how bad a production is.

You know, if the acting is bad you can sit through it with respect to the actors; maybe they're learning. If the music is bad, maybe you can deal with it, maybe. If the set is cheap, hey not every production is funded with thousands of dollars.

Ahh...maybe I just need to get over it already. But, I do have one simple request; should you get up one day and find the sky clear, the sun shining brightly, a tropical breeze, the smell of fresh coffee brewing, Macaw's singing in the background...don't call me with "Oh What a Beautiful Morning". Call and say "it's Gorgeous outside", "it's an incredible day", shoot you can even say...and I hesitate to go there but you could say "It's Beautiful Outside". Just don't ruin it by saying......well, you know.

Apparently my migraines make me look junkieish? Is that even a word? Perhaps not, but I think you know what I mean by it, right?

Last night I went to a rehearsal with a migraine headache. I really didn't think I could make it because, well, if you've ever had a migraine you know they sometimes leave you incapacitated. As bad as I felt I went to the rehearsal with the intention of sitting and watching, nothing more. My friend lent me his sunglasses (even though it was 8 o'clock p.m. and indoors) so I could deal with the bright lights...as I sat and watched.

My intention really was to just watch but I thought "these people are here working and I'm just sitting, what will they think of me?". So I decide to say my lines to pull some my weight of the rehearsal and not look like a little spoiled princess sitting in the sidelines. Step 1.

After sitting there with the sunglasses on, yelling my lines out and pressing every pressure point I could find on my head, in an effort to control the pain, it dawned on me that I was actually at the rehearsal I didn't think I could attend in the first place.

I know the rest of the cast understood how I was feeling and had no problem with my sitting on the sidelines, HOWEVER! I now began to feel that if I didn't get on that stage along with the others, I would feel totally lost at performance time. So what did I do? What else? Step 2. I got up and took my place on stage.

Problem is I was still slightly bent down, eyes toward the ground with sunglasses on indoors at 8:00 p.m., pressing an approximate 5 points on my head with hair slightly tangled....looking, I guess, like a junkie. Who would'a known? I've never even thought of playing a junkie, much less feel like one or have someone tell me I looked like one.

I still haven't' decided if it's a good thing or not, being told I look like a junkie, but at this point, does it matter? I'm playing a junkie in a play that has nothing to do with drugs. All because I took that first step.

Well, pray for me, I'm looking for step 3 and am deathly afraid that unless I get help soon I'll end up in a 5 step program. I guess the good part is, I can always blame it on method acting.

Monday, April 6, 2009

So Sunday night Carlos had a gig in Bakersfield. Why on Earth they booked a gig that far away on a Sunday night I-do-not-know.

Thing is, he sucked me into going. Wednesday he says "hey babe (first sign one should run in the opposite direction, at high speeds) I got a gig Sunday night. I was thinking it would be perfect for you to go with me". A, ha. When he thinks it's perfect, I already know this is not a good thing. But being the sucker I am, I agreed to go.

Part of my wanting to go is that the gig was with a group where the female singer is married to the trumpet player and they're a great couple. I mean GAArate! She's pretty, he's good looking, they are both so down to earth, sweet, honest, wonderful people. You know, the kind that remember all your family's names three weeks after meeting them. Whoaaa...I almost thought I was talking about me! NOT.

Anyway, later on in the week Juan Carlos delivers the bad news that the gig is in Bakersfield but I've already committed to going so....it's a done deal.

We leave the house at about 7:15 p.m. and head out to Palmdale to drop off our 23 year old son who'd just spent the weekend with us, and will wait up for us to pick him up on our way home because, well, who wouldn't want to spend a week in the house of the insane? The gig is supposed to start at 10:00 p.m., a little late for me but I'll be darned if I'm gonna admit that to many people because the quiz I took on Facebook say's my real age is 39. It also said that if I were an instrument I'd be a clarinet and if I were a Barbie, I'd be "Trailer Park Barbie" (stupid test!). So now that I'm 39 and not 54, I'm in a real predicament. I'm almost forced to stay up late even if I do have to be up early in the morning.

So, as I was saying, we drop Matthew off in Palmdale and speed our crazy selves off to Bakersfield. It's dark, it's late, it's far and I'm dumb. I'm sitting there in the dark, listening to Salsa because Carlos is "getting into the mood", and I'm thinking, "what the heck was I thinking?". See, as soon as my loving husband said the gig was in Bakersfield, I knew why "it would be perfect for you to go". He didn't want wanna drive there and back alone. Well, can you blame him?

Ok, the trip takes about an hour and a half from Palmdale. We get there at 10:06 p.m. thinking everyone is waiting for Carlos. We grab our stuff (his stuff) and make a run for it. Walk through the door and down the hall to find the D.J. has everything under control...in his opinion. Again, I'm 39 so I'm not complaining BUT, if I were, it would be because the music was soooo loud, the D.J. was louder yet and at that time, there were only four couples on the floor. So glad we could haul...booty to get there on time. And I'm not exaggerating when I say loud. Seriously, I could feel my eardrums vibrating. I realize that, that is precisely what they're supposed to do in order for one to hear tones but for crying out loud, it felt like I was in the movie "Fantastic Voyage". If you've never seen it, you should, even if it's just for the laugh. When I was a kid and saw that movie (1966-11 years old...unless of course I was FB age)....ok, I'm getting off subject because...because I can.

Well, the fact of the matter is, if it took that long to get there and have our ear drums blown out, it's gonna take that much time to get home, right? So the gig is done and over at 1:15 a.m., Monday morning...and yes, we're still in Bakersfield. We high tail it out of there and about mid-point to Matthews in Palmdale we both start getting sleepy. I cant' fall asleep because I don't wanna die yet. If I fall asleep, Juan Carlos is going down with me, I'm sure of it. So after a while we stop at a truck stop and get some really bad, weak, watered down coffee. First sip and I know I'm making a mistake. Coffee makes me wanna tinkle. But you know, what else can we do? Wet pants or death? I'm opting for peepee pants...at the time.

We pick up Matt and it's my turn to drive. Of course the two of them, I know, are down for the count. So I gotta, somehow, make it home with bad coffee and peepee on my mind. All that way and no room in the car for the peepee dance. I'm getting desperate, almost at the point of rabid. It's "interesting" what a little night chill and coffee can do to a person.

10 minutes from the house and I'm sure I'm gonna go blazing mad. By this time Carlos is awake because he probably heard me gritting my teeth and the water sloshing around in my bladder. In fact, I think I had water coming outta my ears because suddenly the windshield is clean. He started to laugh but after one look from me, decided it wasn't such a good idea. He played it smart and tried to massage my neck, head, leg...anything to make up for the laugh but I'm not yet ready to forgive......Luckily for him we come upon a Denny's. I make a run for it...I'm not kidding either. I'd already undone my pants 45 miles back cause I'm thinking if I gotta jump, I'm jumping! I will not be caught with peepee pants. I get to the front door and take a quick breath, not to deep, it could be dangerous. I open the door and try to walk in as cool and casual as if it were a spring day in the park. That walk must have been one of the longest I've ever taken and all that's left to say is Thank you Denny, thank you!

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

I hear people say it all the time; "God is Good". I bet that anytime there's a church gathering or group of Christians united for any particular reason that phrase is said on a regular basis. For me, the phrase is just plain simple fact, Sunday or not.

I read a friends blog yesterday. She announced her blog post on Facebook so that people would go to her blog and read it. I give her lots of credit. Not only because she drew people to her blog by using Facebook, but because she knows that she has friends and family using Facebook who are not Christian and could use a boost of faith in these difficult economic times. Smart thinking if you ask me.

So I read her blog and was not surprised at what she had to say regarding her faith and how much her views and struggles have changed since coming to know the Lord. I'm right there with her in that I share in her beliefs and trust God with my life. But I guess that's not really why I decided to write today. I thought it interesting that after reading her blog, I found myself wondering if I prayed enough. In case you're thinking it, I'm not fanatical. I believe in sharing my faith but, I don't "praise the Lord" in my every conversation. Maybe I should, who knows.

Throughout the remainder of the evening, after reading, the question would come to me "do I pray enough?". I don't think it was with guilt or a feeling of being any less Christian, it was just a thought. Eventually I went to bed without a real answer.

4:45 a.m. this morning I wake up. My husband wakes up. Unusual; we normally wake up about 6:30 a.m. or so. He asks "Are you okay", I say "Fine. You?". He asks "do you pray a lot?"....... do, do, do , do.....do, do, do , do Another dimension...do not change your television dial.........